Deleted Scenes

Recently excised from the ‘What’s in a Name?’/’Identity Crisis’/??? subsection of Chapter 2.  Clipped for being wordy, jargony, and too on-the-nose.  The Derrida ref didn’t help, even though I’m a Derridean:

Superman is weird because he seems so cleanly iconic but has so many different names![1] 


[1] Superman, in his mediated status as a current pop culture figure, is an example of psycho-socio-historical, imaginative, often explicitly narrativized discourse.  But this is where naming becomes qualitatively distinct from categorization or even definition, for, despite all the complexity of that string of adjectives, what more contextualized material–such as feelings or  prioritized memories that reinforce the trace of the character–do we call up for ourselves in the utterance of his name?  ‘This looks like a job for Superman!  Don’t you want to deepen your voice a bit as you say it?

Thanatos The Unquestionable

So, in my few hours of research on the diminishment, malformation, or absence of the death drive and the potential effects of such a situation, I’ve been a little surprised to have found just frickin’ nothing.  

Freud himself said that just about any of the psychical structures he identified could be absent or aberrant in anybody.  Am I looking in the wrong places–certainly a possibility–or has this concept/structure just gotten by without any such critical consideration?  Do we just presume everyone has a death drive and it’s always only ever appropriately- or overly- functional, and that’s it?

Random theory

“Some panels and pages [of some erotic comics, like the work of Molly Kiely and Colleen Coover] unfold like snapshots, gesturing at a larger hole that is unrepresented and perhaps unrepresentable.”    -Lyndsay Brown, ‘Pornographic space-time and the potential of fantasy in comics and fan art’

My own question, then, isn’t whether unrepresentability is possible in the ways we communicate our narratives–especially our fictions–but how.

Random Theory

The real, in a Lacanian sense, is bigger than the sum total of human knowledge, if only by mass; we can at least know that what we don’t yet know is bigger than what we know, if only because we can see so many places, out in space, that we haven’t yet been able to visit.  But language–human reality–gets the upper hand and becomes the predator, the master and quantifier of even the unknown, through that one little word, articulated whenever necessary: ‘yet’.  Even if there is an infinitude that we don’t know, even that infinitude only ever gets smaller, since what we know generally only ever gets bigger.